


My Baby Brother

by brokenlittleboy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, M/M, deaged!sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenlittleboy/pseuds/brokenlittleboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean finds himself having to babysit Sam again after an unfortunate accident with a witch. Pretty fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Baby Brother

All he did was step out for some damn snacks.

“Just grabbin’ some grub, kiddo,” he had said, left Sam waiting in the Impala, and  _this_ had somehow happened in his absence.

Friggin’ great.

 

His first sign that something was up was when he headed toward the car, arsenal of food in hand, and the Impala had been empty. Er, at least looked empty— no giganto little brother sitting in the passenger seat, waiting for him. Looking around quickly, he didn’t see Sam in his immediate vicinity, and hurried to the car to investigate, heart pounding. A thousand worst-case scenarios flashed through his mind like previews for up-and-coming slasher films.

As he approached, he saw Sam’s clothes on the seat through the window.

_What the hell? Did the kid decide to go stripping?_

Curiosity piqued, Dean opened the door, and saw that it was just more than Sam’s clothes.

It was Sam.

Sort of.

His brother, less than four feet tall, sat looking mildy amused among the clutter of clothes that could fit him five times over. He must’ve been six— Dean would know. He practically raised the kid.

“Sammy?” Dean asked cautiously, edging into the driver’s seat.

“Hi, Dean!” Sam chirped cheerily, waving his tiny little hand.

Dean shut the Impala door and started the engine, muttering “fucking witches.”

—

Research was not one of Dean’s finer skills.

It wasn’t one of his worse skills, either— he knew he sucked. And Sam liked to do it, and liked to be praised when doing it, so Dean left that part of the job to his kid brother, who was now  _literally_  a kid.

Sighing, his elbow on the table, hand supporting his chin, his other hand flipped through one of the giant, ancient volumes of lore that the bunker provided. He was getting nowhere, and he knew it.

A little whine, one he knew all too well, alerted him to Sam’s presence beside him. Sam’s hands were up, making little grabby motions, and Dean knew exactly what he wanted.

“Up you go,” he muttered as he lifted his baby brother onto his lap. He snaked one hand around Sam’s waist, keeping him close at hand, and continued reading, absentmindedly bouncing Sam up and down on his knee just like he used to. Force of habit.

Abruptly, Sam leaned forward, and started flipping through the book, giggling mercilessly at his rancor.

“You’re not helping, Einstein,” Dean said, but without any heat. Gently prying Sam’s fingers away from the book, he began to flip back when he paused, and returned to the page that Sam had turned to.

“Wow. Maybe you are,” he marveled, and began reading on long-distance curses. Sam was quiet, but kicked his legs back and forth incessantly.

Reading all he needed, he shut the book. The curse was completely and one-hundred percent a spite thing, and the witch must’ve pulled it off just before they killed her. It was minor, it shouldn’t hurt Sam, and only lasted for about a day. Dean looked down when Sam tugged on his sleeve.

“Dean, I’m  _bored_ , this place is  _boring,_ ” Sam lamented.

“I suppose I could humor you for twenty-four hours,” Dean assented. “Where do you wanna go, Sammy?”

Sam cheered, and practically vaulted off of Dean’s lap, which triggered a smile on Dean’s face and a chuckle. Even if he wouldn’t say it, even if Sam asked, he’d deny it, he really missed this. The simple things that made Sam laugh without effort, the way he fit so damn snugly in Dean’s arms. Nostalgia hit Dean like a bullet, and for a moment, he wished this would last longer than twenty-four hours.

As soon as he thought that, however, he missed normal Sam like hell. His voice, the jokes, the little quirks he had, everything.

 _I’ll enjoy it while it lasts,_  he mused as he stood up and stretched languidly.

“Ice cream! Icecreamicecream _Ice creeeam_!” Sam cheered, and tugged on Dean’s pant leg, a silent  _hurry up_.

“Oh, kiddo, I don’t think we’ll get there in time. It’s pretty late.”

_Oh, crap._

The widest, most innocent, teary-eyed puppy-dog face stared back at Dean, and it abso-fuckin’-lutely melted him right there on the spot. He had forgotten how cute Sammy had been, and how easily he could manipulate Dean.

“Who needs the speed limit, anyway?” Dean obliged, and Sam went off like a rocket, scurrying over to the door and cheering.

Dean laughed, an outright, full-belly laugh, for the first time in what felt like ages. He ran after Sam, who was almost at the door.

“Wait for me!” he called when Sam opened the door and slipped outside.

Sam did no such thing, and when Dean finally reached the Impala, Sam was circling it, crying out “I win! I win! I win!”

“Only ‘cuz you got a head start,” Dean teased.

“Nah-uh,” Sam protested. “You’re just  _old_ ,”

“You take that back!” Dean barked, laughing, and rushed at the kid, tickling him where right he knew Sam’s defenses were weakest.

“Nooo! Stop!” Sam yelled, but he was smiling, and his laughter was like pure, perfect music to Dean’s ears. Dean let up when Sam quickly tired, and when he warned him that it was getting even later, Sam was up like a rocket and into the car, to the passenger seat.

“Oh hell no,” Dean said, getting into his space behind the wheel. “Tiny tots take back seat.”

“ _Deeeeeaaaaaan_ ,” Sam whined, and the puppy dog look was back, in full force.

Dean almost let up, but his concern for Sam’s safety took precedence. “No, Sammy. I know you want to, and it sounds like fun, but I was dumb for letting you sit there on the way here. It’s not safe. I just don’t want you to get hurt, is all. Ice cream is no fun when you’re covered in Band-Aids. Okay?”

“Okay,” Sam sighed, and re-entered the car behind Dean, kicking the back of his seat for good measure.

Dean started the engine and winced at his hypocrisy when he went 20 over the speed limit just to get some damn strawberry fudge swirl in a cone with sprinkles.

—

Dean held Sam’s hand all the way in the store and all the way out, even though they were parked right at the curb in front of the joint. An old woman had told him his son was cute, and Sam had gotten a real kick out of that, but neither of them had corrected her. Dean got himself some chocolate ice cream, and they shared a high-five at the realization that they had gotten there just before closing.

For some reason, it appeared that Dean was approximately 600% percent hotter with a kid in tow. Both of the girls on staff at the late hour had hit on him separately, and he would’ve loved that, but Sam had stolen the show. He managed to get ‘aww’s out of them at an astonishing rate, and his dimpled smile was almost too much to handle. Dean knew, he himself had fallen victim to it innumerable times.

They finished their ice cream, waved good-bye to Jean and Sarah, and went on their way.

“I swear to God you weren’t always so messy,” Dean grumbled as he wiped a pink streak off of Sam’s forehead.

They were back at the bunker, and Sam was sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed patiently as Dean mother-henned him to all hell.

Finished up, Dean pulled the towel away from Sam. “Go wash your hands,” he ordered, and watched Sam dart into the bathroom. Finally alone, he exhaled slowly, setting the washcloth on the nightstand. He looked around the room, gaze lingering on his photo of his mom.

“You’d’ve loved him,” he swore up and down, a lump in his throat making his voice softer than intended.

The bathroom door shutting stole his attention, and Sam stood in the doorway, an odd look on his face.

“What is it, Sammy?” Dean queried, worry seeping into his tone.

Wordlessly, Sam ran over and hugged him. After a startled pause, Dean hugged him back. Sam buried his head in Dean’s chest.

After a moment, Sam broke away, smiling tiredly up at him. “I’m kinda sleepy,” he admitted.

“Me too, buddy,” Dean hefted Sam up into his arms, one of the perks of a smaller version of his little brother. Sam slipped his hands around Dean’s neck and snuggled closer, his head fitting perfectly under Dean’s. Sam was warm in Dean’s arms. As he walked out of the room, Sam began to struggle and cry out in protest.

“Woah, woah, woah. What is it?” Dean asked, stopping.

“‘Dun wanna sleep alone,” Sam grumbled, words slurring. He was upset. And for good reason— it might not’ve been the healthiest thing, but Sam had slept in the same bed as Dean for quite awhile. To six-year-old Sam, riddled with nightmares but still pretty innocent, it probably seemed to be a scary proposition.

“Right. Sorry,” Dean apologized, and Sam quieted as they turned around and Dean gently set him down on the bed.

He tucked Sam into bed carefully, just like he always used to, and got in behind him, pulling him close. Their bodies left no gap, like a puzzle, and Dean moved his nose closer to Sam’s neck, taking in the smell of him. They hadn’t done this in so long— Dean missed it. Sam snuggled backward to be closer to Dean, and it was only minutes before they were both sound asleep.

—

Morning came with the groggy realization that Dean was hot as hell. Eyes blinking slowly open to half-mast, he saw Sam staring back at him, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Eyes clearing up, he realized that this Sam was fully-grown, a six-foot-four, 30-year-old brother.

Alarmed, he started to scoot backward, noticing that their heads were inches apart and their limbs tangled together. However, Sam stopped him, pulling him back. Dean was pretty sure he made some confused sounds, because Sam smiled even wider.

“Thanks for the ice cream,” Sam whispered.

“You son of a bitch,” Dean gasped, realization dawning on him. “You knew. You were there the whole time.”

“I just… I missed that stuff. And when was I going to get another opportunity to do that? I couldn’t just-” Sam’s confession was interrupted when Dean planted a kiss on his forehead and moved closer. Sam ceased talking, surprised.

“Shut up,” Dean said. “I missed this, too.”

Sam grinned. “You still gonna carry me to bed?”

“I said shut up.”

Sam laughed, and the smile just couldn’t leave his face. He hadn’t felt like this in a very long time.

 _I guess I’ll always be his baby brother_.


End file.
